


Caveat Emptor

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitute, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where alchemy is illegal and Amestris is run by monsters, Roy Mustang has his work cut out for him. But it's impossible to fix a broken nation with the government breathing down his neck, so Roy starts a shaky alliance with the head of the notorious Devil's Nest family, who offers him a quick (and expensive) solution. What he receives isn't at all what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of the first anime that uses some elements of the manga. It was partially written during NaNoWriMo for my au_bingo card with the prompt: "Prostitutes."

The boy turned up at his front door at precisely seven minutes past midnight, just as Roy was putting his bottle back in its cabinet, the amber liquid catching the light as the doorbell rang. Head to feet, he was drenched with rain, dwarfed in a black overcoat, the tremors wracking his arms visible even through the thick fabric. He stared up at Roy with liquor-gold eyes, scowled and said, "The boss sent me."

"You're from—" Roy shook off his stupor and opened the door wider, taking a careful look toward the darkened streets as the boy barged in. Closing the door behind him, "You're not what I expected."

"Isn't it better that way?" The boy pulled off his boots, dropping them to the floor with a solid _thunk._

"I need proof," Roy insisted. If Greed had sent him a kid, there wasn't much he could do, but he wasn't rash enough to take the boy at his word, not even close.

The boy shrugged out of the too-large coat, the fabric squelching when it hit the tile, covering his boots. He looked significantly older then, and Roy relaxed his shoulders, able to breathe again.

"Edward Elric," the boy said, "seventeen, been a member of Devil's Nest for five years. Call it in if I'm so fucking disappointing, but I'm not tryin' to pull anything."

Seventeen—and five years? "I suppose that will do," Roy said, still reluctant. "You do realize what—" He broke off, shook his head. "I was expecting a woman."

"A woman couldn't do what you need done," Edward said. "Not all of it, anyway. She'd just get killed, an' then where the fuck would you be?"

"I paid for the full service," Roy said, chose his words carefully. He wouldn't have been surprised if the boy turned tail and ran.

"You'll get it," Edward promised. " _And_ you'll get to live and keep your limbs. Good deal, right?"

"You'll have to be discreet. I couldn't care less what you are, but the board of directors will."

"Relax," Edward said, rolled his eyes. "I told you, I got this. Greed sent me for a reason, y'know."

Roy would sooner eat his own tongue than trust Greed, but the boy was there and the money already wired to the proper account—he had little option. "I suppose so," he said again.

"Yeah." The boy stood in the entryway, tugging the hem of his shirt with nervous fingers. "So," he said, looking off to the side. "So. You need anything tonight?"

The boy looked cold, looked unsure, but Roy had paid for three months, an obscene amount of money. "Go take a shower," he instructed. He gave Edward a long look and added, "Towel yourself off only. You've no need for anything else."

Edward's face burned red, but he nodded. "Where…?"

"Upstairs, third door to the left," Roy said, already grabbing the coat and nudging the boots into some semblance of order against the wall.

"And after?" Edward asked, one foot up the stairs.

"The door at the end of the hall is my room," Roy answered. "Try not to take too long."

The boy scowled again, eyebrows dipping into an angry v, lips twisted. "Yes, sir," he said, sneering. "I'd hate to make you wait." He stomped up the stairs, feet slamming loud against the wood, and Roy watched him go, amused and exasperated.

Clearly, the boy wasn't used to the specific job he'd been assigned. No matter. Roy had built his entire career on dealing with difficult men. One mouthy hooker wasn't enough to unsettle him.

He was still downstairs when the water kicked on in the upstairs bathroom. The boy's coat was, for lack of a better word, atrocious. A complete abomination to good taste—throwing it away seemed hardly enough to deal with the mildewy smell floating around it like its own ozone layer, but it would have to do. Roy threw it out the living room window, heard it land on the trash with a satisfying clatter of glass and metal under damp fabric, and made his way up the stairs to the master bedroom, pulling his tie loose.

As he opened the bedroom door, the sound of running water died abruptly, and he caught sight of movement, shadows under the door, feet trailing back and forth in the small confines of the bathroom.

The boy was cussing about something, loudly, and the banging that followed the steady stream of expletives sent Roy's stomach churning.

Laying his tie over the foot of the bed, Roy was just tugging his buttons open, shrugging out of his shirt, when he saw Edward in his peripheral vision. The boy was standing stark naked in the doorway with a large white towel clutched in his fists, dangling over his groin. Roy stared at the boy and angry pits of gold stared back defiantly, belying the almost petulant set of the boy's lips.

Roy folded his shirt, placed it on top of the chest of drawers, and reached out a hand. "Come here," he said. Edward jolted, and Roy softened his tone, lowered his voice. "Edward," he said the boy's name slowly, drew it out into a rumbling purr, and watched the boy's flush darken, red creeping down his neck. Roy tugged on the buckle of his belt, looked pointedly at the boy. "Any day now," he couldn't help but say, pleased at the answering spark in those eyes as the boy stormed forward and, as if it were an afterthought, let the towel drop. Roy made no secret of his appreciation, even as Edward's hands fumbled on his buckle. Edward was beautiful, from the sharp, square cut of his hips to the damp gold hair streaming down his shoulders and back.

It was impossible to be disappointed.

He put his hands on the boy's shoulders, and Edward froze, then scrambled back into motion, ripping Roy's belt from the loops and sending the man stumbling backward onto the bed.

"Stop lookin' at me like that," Edward demanded, but it was too hard to concentrate on words when the boy's hands were drawing down his zip, tugging down two layers of clothing until Roy was just as bare as he was.

"That's fine," Roy muttered in a rushed tone. "I didn't pay to _look_ " — and then they were rolling. Edward's back hit the bed and gold fanned out behind him. The boy looked frantic, eyes wide and focused on Roy's face, and Roy ran his hands in a long, smooth motion up Edward's sides as he crawled over him, staring down. "Edward, relax."

Silence, then, "Ed," the boy murmured, closing his eyes. "S'weird, bein' called my whole name."

"Ed," Roy repeated, leaning down, face pressed against Ed's neck, grinning into the warm, wet skin when the boy arched, moving, open for Roy to do anything he pleased. "You're much more compliant than I would have thought," he said. He scraped his teeth along the smooth skin, pressing down just barely when a tremor ran up the boy's spine, body vibrating in Roy's arms.

"Don't take it personally," Ed said, voice a breathy whisper. "'Cause I kinda think you're an ass."

Roy laughed, sliding a hand between Ed's legs and cupping his cock, felt the flesh harden against his fingers. "Then I suppose I have biology to thank for this," he squeezed for emphasis, and Ed whined, a long, keening sound, and pressed up into his palm.

"Yeah," he panted, "biology's cool, great, you just keep workin' that."

Fisting Ed's cock, Roy tugged, pressed his thumb against the slit, watched Ed's face contort with pleasure. "This isn't very fair, now is it?" he asked, watched Ed crack his eyes open, blink rapidly, and close them again, hips pushing into Roy's grip.

"S'not fair? Seems fair to, ah, fuck, to me!"

"Your poor client is hard and wanting, Ed," Roy said, thrusting the hard line of his cock against Ed's hip. The boy's eyes shot open, the murky gold clearing, and Ed bit his lips, tossed his head to the side and wailed when Roy let go and slipped his hands under Ed's back, cupping his ass and squeezing, drawing the boy closer.

"Wait," Ed said, a rushed pant, squirming. "Wait—" Roy made a vague shushing noise, sliding one finger between Ed's cheeks, rubbed at the slight dipping crease between them, and Ed bucked up, struggling, pushed Roy's chest. "Wait, damn it!"

"For what?" Roy sat back on his knees, incredulous.

"I—nothing," Ed said finally. "You startled me, that's all." He looked around. "Don't you have…" He made a vague hand gesture, and Roy swallowed, tried to pull his mind back together.

"Have _what_ , Edward?"

"Lube," the boy squeaked, cleared his throat. His mouth was set in an angry line, and he was pressing his thighs together like a built-in chastity belt. "You can't fuck me if you don't."

"Idiot," Roy muttered, "it's in the drawer next to the bed, right—no, right—yes. It's the tube."

Ed scrambled through the drawer in the bedside table, angled awkwardly so he could watch Roy at the same time, and pulled out a tube, flicked the cap open. "Okay," he said, took a deep breath. "Sorry, let's just—try again."

"Right," Roy said after a moment, watching Ed fidget, legs splayed open, his strangely disproportionate knees bent up, the position something a touch beyond obscene. "Right," Roy said again with a bit more trouble, mouth going dry. Ed held the tube for him and squirted a generous amount onto Roy's open hand, an extra glob dropping onto Ed's stomach, sliding down to his navel.

"S'cold," Ed muttered, watching Roy's hand disappear between his legs.

Really, it felt nothing like being with a prostitute. The practiced ease of the working women Roy knew was suspiciously absent. The red hue of the boy's face and the tight line of his lips was a stark contrast to the smouldering, parted mouths he'd encountered in the past. It was refreshing, dirtier that way, and when Roy slid a finger inside Ed, he groaned, his cock jolting, knowing instinctively that it was going to be _in_ that blissful, tight heat.

Ed stiffened, and Roy spared him a glance before his eyes returned to his hand, watching, enraptured, as his finger disappeared, then a second. Ed whimpered when Roy scissored them and tossed his head and keened when he pushed in a third. The boy was tight, _so tight_ , and somewhere in the back of Roy's mind, he was singing Greed's praises for sending the boy.

When Roy pulled free and looked up, Ed's hand was on his own cock, fist squeezing sporadically, thumbing the head, and his mouth hung open, lips glistening. Roy grabbed his knees, pulled them around his waist, and watched his cock slide against the cleft of Ed's ass with something akin to wonder. Ed's jaw went slack, eyes half-mast, but the moment Roy started pushing in, the boy let out a strangled noise and jerked back, slamming his head against the headboard and narrowly missing jamming his knee into Roy's cock.

Patience a too-thin string, Roy grabbed Ed's leg and dragged him back. "What?" he demanded. "What is it now? What could possibly—"

"Condom," Ed said, one hand rubbing at the back of his head. "You didn't have one on—"

Roy stared, incredulous. "A condom." He wanted one _now_?

"You forgot one." The boy's voice was still husky, still simmering raw, but he no longer looked as though he was toeing the edge, too close to blowing. Roy waved again at the bedside table, watching the boy stretch over and fumble through it again. It was ridiculous—Ed was the one with the job. Surely he should be the one to remember?

Roy fumed in his mind for all of a few seconds before suddenly Ed was _right there_ , contorting his body to bend forward almost completely in half, ripping the packaging open with his teeth and sliding the rubber on with clever fingers. Roy would have said something, would have demanded to take the lead, but the situation was oddly uneven. The boy was too aggressive. Ed was on his back again, but he was pulling Roy forward, still clinging to some semblance of control, letting the head nudge between his cheeks before he slid relaxed back onto the bed. His brow was furrowed and he was frowning. "Okay," Ed said, the word catching in his throat. "Go, whatever, just _go_ —"

So Roy did. Ed could pretend control as much as he liked, but Roy had the upper hand.

The boy groaned, loud and long and feverish, one hand sliding between them, the other curving around Roy's neck as Roy held his cock steady and pushed—

" _Ohfuck_ —" Ed's eyes clenched shut and there were suddenly two hands on Roy's shoulders as Roy pushed in steadily, trying to control his breathing, himself, unable to believe how fucking _tight_ —

He looked at Ed's face again through arousal-blinded eyes, ran a tongue over his dry lips, leaned down until there was barely space for air between their mouths.

"Nnngn!" Ed's body moulded against him, and Roy pushed in, further, further, all the way, until he was buried, balls slapping against Ed's ass, and Ed panted, forehead glistening.

The boy couldn't have been very experienced, not with the way he was writhing under Roy, Roy's hand barely brushed over his cock before he blew his load. Thick, sticky wetness spread between them, and Roy thrust, eyes wide and blind, went higher and higher until his whole body shuddered, cock jerking inside Ed, the boy gasping — and he was spilling over.

Roy slumped down, face pressed in the juncture between Ed's neck and shoulder, breathing heavy. He couldn't remember when he'd come so quickly—it'd been years, he'd been so young. But Ed didn't seem to have any complaints — apart from wanting Roy _off_. He pushed at Roy's shoulders and slid out from underneath him, wincing a bit as he stepped off the bed.

"Where are you going?" Roy asked, flat on his stomach in a wet spot. He'd move eventually, but for now — he felt a bit too good, too sated, to be considering anything as strenuous as rolling over.

"Bathroom," Ed said tersely. "Stuff's—all over me." He made a face and walked quickly out of the room. Roy followed the sway of his hips, a strangely uneven gait, until that perfect ass disappeared into the bathroom.

Three months of _that_ , Roy could handle.

As much as he wanted to lay still, the idea of falling asleep while wearing a condom—a used one, at that—left _Roy_ wanting to wince. Sitting up with an exaggerated stretch, Roy pulled himself free of the rubber and tied it off.

When he slung it at the trash bin, it landed off to the side, and Roy let out a relieved breath when it didn't pop.

 _Note to self_ , he thought. _Move the trash bin._

*

Breakfast was a subdued affair. Ed couldn't look at Roy. After he had woken up curled up into the man's armpit, he had immediately panicked and fled to the bathroom, followed not five minutes later by an irate Roy needing the toilet.

"How do you like your coffee?"

"Black," Ed said, watching the screen of Roy's computer with a growing frown. "How fucking slow _is_ this thing?"

"It's an older model, so I imagine it runs very slow," Roy said, putting a mug down in front of Ed and settling into the chair across the table. The laptop took up most of the space, so Roy found himself leaning backward in order to not send the computer and the coffees tumbling all over the place while he read the paper.

"Aha!" Ed grinned. "It loaded, excellent. All right, just key in here… and here it is!"

"Here's what?" Roy asked, peering over the top of the newspaper.

"Intel an' stuff," Ed said. "For the job."

"On the computer?" Roy set the paper down. "Is that wise?"

"Yeah, it's cool. It's a private server, and I know the guy who encoded it. I'd pay the guy who managed to crack into this." Ed grabbed the mug, downed a gulp. "Okay, so three months. I got my new ID, got the info on the meetings—"

"New ID?" Roy asked, scooting the chair around.

"Yeah, my name is, uh—oh, that _bastard_!"

"What?" Roy glanced at the screen, catching sight of a picture of a pretty young blond before Ed shifted the computer, scooting it out of his line of vision. "I was looking at that!"

"Trisha," Ed spat. "That bastard named me Trisha!"

"Named you…" Then, the pieces began clicking together, the blond, a new identity— "You're going to be cross-dressing." Roy stared. "You're going to pretend to be a _woman_?"

"How the hell else did you think this was gonna go down?" Ed scowled, the expression apparently so natural to him that it settled over his features automatically.

"Interesting. Are you sure you can pull it off?" Ed was undeniably male. Roy knew first hand, and it was hard to imagine the boy as anything but.

"I've done it before," Ed admitted. "Not like this, or for this long, but shit has to get done somehow, y'know?"

"I suppose," Roy said dubiously.

"Someone's bringin' my clothes and stuff over today," Ed said, scanning the screen. "Oh, hey, they even wrote us a back story!"

Roy leaned over Ed's shoulder and raised his eyebrows. "Greed is certainly…thorough."

"He has a lot invested in you," Ed said. "Apparently, anyway, I don't really get what's so great about you, but whatever. So tell me."

"Tell you what?" Roy couldn't understand Ed's thought process—he seemed to jump from topic to topic rapidly, without any warning.

"What you need," Ed said, as though it was obvious. "I mean, I got all this," he waved at the computer, "but I wanna hear what you're after. So I know."

"You know who I am," Roy began, and Ed shook his head.

"Not really. I mean, I know your name and that you're some—some fancy rich business guy—"

"Hawkeye Industries," Roy cut in. "It's the largest weapons and technology developer in all of Amestris — and the government's main supplier. I own it."

Ed whistled. "Nice. So you make wars."

"I wouldn't have put it exactly that way," Roy muttered, "but I can't really argue. It has…recently come to light that Parliament is not what we thought it was. And the Prime Minister," Roy laughed, a bitter, cynical sound. "He's not even close to who I thought he was."

"Greed's mentioned you before," Ed offered. "You're the guy planning the coup, right?"

"Something like that. Those aren't details you need to know," Roy said dismissively. "What you do need to know is that I've attracted unnecessary attention." Ed was silent. "I have a—reputation, I suppose you could say."

"I've heard," Ed said, dry. "Go on."

"Everyone's heard," Roy said. "That's the point. Up until two months ago, I was out with a different woman every night. But as of late, due to, ah, recent developments, I've been unable to go out. The Prime Minister has taken notice."

"Why would he care, that's what I don't get," Ed said. "Who cares?"

"You don't understand the subtleties of politics," Roy interrupted. "The military—everyone knows my company has a great deal of power in the country, and I can't imagine that Prime Minster Bradley is unaware that I've discovered the things I have."

"He knows you're planning to rebel."

"He suspects," Roy corrected. "So long as he has no reason to suspect, so long as he believes I'm safely under his thumb, he will do nothing. It's imperative that he doesn't think I've been up to anything dubious."

"Where do I come in?" Ed glanced back at the computer. "Your long distance lover. So I was distracting you, right? And now I'm moving in."

Roy nodded, pleased. The story made sense, really. "If Parliament believes that I've been distracted by a woman for the last few months, then that explains why I’ve been so quiet recently. It’ll throw them off the scent - they'll have no reason to think I've been involved with anything unsavory. And with you here, they'll think I've begun settling down and turn their eyes elsewhere. You'll be my scapegoat, Ed."

Ed was quiet for a long time after that, clicking rapidly through whatever was on the computer, eyes narrowed, teeth working his lower lip in concentration. Finally, he sighed loudly, sat back in his chair, arms behind his head, and said, "Yeah, all right, old man. I'm in. I'll be your scapegoat."

As if he'd had a choice to begin with.

"I am curious, you know," Roy took a sip of his coffee, pushed the mug carefully to the center of the table, "about how you got involved with Greed at such a young age."

"It's not up for discussion," Ed said, looking almost apologetic. "It's—just better. Don't ask." He packed up the laptop and put it in its case next to his chair,

Ed's refusal to discuss his past only made Roy more curious, naturally, but he knew better than to press the matter, knew first hand that people’s pasts were often dark and painful, even unbearable to discuss.

There was unfortunately little that either of them could do until Ed's 'supplies' arrived. Roy, within twenty minutes of breakfast, found himself dressing for work, following the automatic pattern he'd set years ago.

"So you're just gonna leave me here?" Ed asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed. "That's real nice, old man. Very gentlemanly."

"You're paid help, Ed," Roy said bluntly. "I have work to do, and someone has to be here when your things arrive. Don't answer the door for anyone else, don't touch the phone, and don't use the computer again. I have to spread the word."

Ed gave him a sour look and stomped up the stairs, muttering darkly under his breath. Roy shook his head and headed out the door, mind already on the task at hand.

Hughes, he knew, would be the first person he should speak with, given the fact that the entire charade had been his idea in the first place. And really, when he walked into his office, closed the door behind him, and said, "So, my long distance girlfriend is moving in today. Perhaps we should celebrate," Hughes’ shocked look was well worth the trouble.

"Hell, Roy," Hughes breathed, hand over his chest, "you actually did it? Is she from—" Hughes looked around his office, then back at Roy, mouthing, _the Devil's Nest?_

"She's from the East," Roy said, nodding. "A small town. It's supposed to be very quaint."

"I'm sure it is." Hughes rubbed his eyes. "Well, hell. Does the team know?"

"Not yet. I was hoping we could break it to them together. Over dinner, perhaps?" Roy added. "I could rent somewhere out for us." The _somewhere safe_ was not necessary.

"I'll take care of it," Hughes said, chuckling. "You certainly work fast, Roy-boy. This is going to be a PR nightmare, you know. Hawkeye's going to skin you alive."

"I'll be sure to mention where the encouragement came from," Roy said dryly.

"No," Hughes said, "really, feel free not to. I'm a behind-the-scenes kind of guy."

"I recall you saying that exact thing," Roy began, "that one time during the convention for entrepreneurs in Aerugo—"

"You promised to never speak of that again," Hughes reminded. "And in any case—"

Whatever Hughes had in mind was killed by the arrival of Havoc. He stumbled through the door, a box filled to the brim with papers perched precariously in his arms. "A little help?" he said, strained. Roy looked at Hughes, eyebrows raised, and mouthed, _Aerugo._

"Let me help you with that!" Hughes said quickly, helping Havoc hoist the box onto Roy's desk—but not before shooting a look that promised a terribly embarrassing revenge.

"What's all this, then?" Roy asked, peering into the box.

"Stuff?" Havoc suggested. "It just came down from human resources, something about new applicants."

Roy picked up the paper on top, giving it a cursory glance before tossing it aside. "Wonderful."

Hughes was quick to grab it. "She's not bad looking," he said. "Graduated from Central U with a degree in… art. Ah."

"Emphasis in modelling," Havoc said, reading over his shoulders. "I could use a personal assistant, Boss. You know, just saying—"

"Havoc," Roy interrupted, "you _are_ a personal assistant."

Havoc wilted. "Right."

"How long do I have to go over these?" Roy asked, temples already starting to pound. "Surely all of these didn't pass HR's initial inspections."

"Sorry," Havoc shrugged. "Blame Fuery. He's the one that passed them on to me. He said HR claims to need the next round back for interviewing by, uh, Wednesday, maybe?"

Roy huffed. "Then pass on a message for me, won't you? There is no way in hell."

"I'll need that in writing," Havoc said. "Signed and dated." He looked thrilled.

Days like these, Roy wished it wasn't necessary for him to be personally involved in the hiring process.

*

It was a damn good thing that the asshole went to work. Ed stood in the living room, watching Greed poke through the man's belongings, take in each room with the same unguarded amusement.

"I don't see why you had to come yourself," Ed said accusingly. "You're gonna cause trouble."

"You worry too much," Greed said, waved him off. "This is a high-cost operation. I just want to see that you don't mess up."

"Fuck, I'm so sure."

"He's got the means to take control from that person," Greed said. "We need him, so be accommodating, kid. It's not every day I loan out my most valuable possession—don't make me regret it." _Or you will_ , Greed didn't need to say. Ed heard the threat, plain as day, and scoffed, rolled his eyes.

How fucking typical.

"Sure, boss," he said, let anger bleed into his tone. "It'd be a fucking honor to whore myself out—"

"You've got to get in the mindset, kid," Greed argued. "If you've got to be a woman, then you've got to do the same things a woman of his would do. Think he'd just hold her hand? Don't expect anyone to dance to your tune, kid. Just do your job and then put it behind you, same as always."

Ed could hear the reasoning, could understand the logic, but—it was more than demeaning, more than humiliating.

It almost made him glad that his mother was dead and that his little brother thought Ed was too, because like hell was he going to let anyone see him like this.

"You had to pick that name," Ed grumbled, rooting through the trunk Greed brought with him, eying the clothing and shoes and—and everything with complete and utter disgust. "I don't know why the fuck you had to do that, ever heard of overkill, you shithead?"

Greed laughed. "You've got what you need. I'm out of here."

"Yeah, 'bout fucking time. I need to get ready," Ed said, face pinched. He'd done some shitty work before, done whatever Greed stuck in front of him as efficiently as he could manage, but there was a still a part of him that recoiled at the thought of the operation, of being so—

It was being an object that bothered him. Ed could stand being used, could work around the rules with no problem, but there wasn't any give in this. He couldn't step out of place when there was so much riding on him.

"Take care, Trisha," Greed said, pushed open the window and looked out. "I'll check in on you when I can." When he took a step out the window and disappeared from view, Ed waited for a few moments before pushing it shut again, clicking the lock.

Some days, he really regretted the whole 'being alive' thing.

*

Saturdays were the best days in the office, because Roy could walk out at one in the afternoon and not worry about his advisor jumping out of nowhere and piling new work onto his already overwhelming workload. Saturdays were half days. Saturdays were _wonderful._

" _A car will be there at six, so make sure you and your, uh, lady are ready._ "

Roy balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder, tapping fingers impatiently at the steering wheel as the red light continued to be red, much to his displeasure. "I'm sure she'll be ready, Hughes."

The man laughed, and Roy could just tell he was enjoying himself way too much. The first chance he'd gotten, he'd told Hughes the truth, told him just who Trisha really was, and the man had laughed until he cried, and then proceeded to continue laughing every time he saw Roy the rest of the day. One o'clock had never felt so far away.

" _Sure, sure_ ," Hughes said, clearing his throat and trying not very hard to keep from laughing. " _I had Hawkeye rent us out one of those traditional Xingian places, think Trisha will like that?_ "

"I'm sure she will," Roy ground out. The light finally turned green, and the tires of his car squealed as he peeled out, sped past the cars in the lanes next to him. He didn't live more than five minutes’ drive away from the office, but between the traffic lights and the thousands of other people living in Central, it always took forever and a day to get to his front door. Hughes let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and Roy huffed. "I'm hanging up now."

" _Don't be like that_ —"

Tossing his phone onto the passenger's seat, Roy took a sharp right, went straight through another red light, and pulled into his driveway. The gates parted automatically for his car, thanks to a bit of technology that his security specialist had installed a year previous, something Roy didn't understand in the least. The gates recognized his car, but no matter how many times the man explained it, Roy just didn't see _how_.

Car parked, Roy dragged himself up the walkway, catching sight of movement in the kitchen window—a slender blond at the table, mug in hand, reading a book. He stopped dead in his tracks—that was Ed? He couldn't see the boy's face at all, just the curve of his back, but—

It was a dress, had to be a dress. Something strange and floral, and Roy ran flat-footed the rest of the way, practically kicked the front door in trying to get it open, and stumbled into the kitchen, briefcase dropped the moment he'd gotten inside.

Ed was sitting at the table, same as he'd seen, but the book he'd been reading was laying open, pages down to hold his place. He was watching Roy, lower lip stuck between his teeth, eyes wary. "Hey," Ed said, voice softer than that morning. When he stood up, the dress fell just above his knees. His hair was twisted in some decorative braid, resting over his shoulder, his lips were a soft red, and his eyes were painted. They looked natural, and somehow bigger.

"Hi," Roy said, staring. He cleared his throat of the sudden lump crawling its way down to his heart. "You clean up well."

"All part of the job," the boy said, but this time he sounded like Ed, same rough voice with the odd country twang. "So you like? I wasn't sure what type you went for, so I went simple. Fuckin' hate this dress though. I look shit in green."

Ed didn't look shit in green, looked amazing in it, actually. It was some sort of earthy color with ivy vines twining into each other all down it, from the hem of the dress up to the short sleeves rounding over his shoulders.

"You look fine," Roy assured, crooking a finger at Ed. "Come here. I want to get a better look."

Ed rolled his eyes and walked closer, stood in the middle of the kitchen with his arms out accommodatingly as Roy circled around him, arms crossed, eyes critical.

"Perfect," Roy declared. "Though you don't seem to have any breasts."

"Oh, fuck you," Ed said. "I have this—this, like, figure thing, and I'm not gonna have huge knockers, so you can forget that shit right now. It's just supposed to give me a—"

"Feminine figure," Roy finished for him. "That's fine. You make an excellent woman," and he was surprised when Ed's hackles raised at that remark, shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes on fire. He rounded on Roy, stuck his finger in the man's face and absolutely growled, "Let's get this fuckin' straight, you shitty old man. _I am not a woman._ This is just a fucking part I play, so don't lose your head, got it? This isn't me—this shit _isn't me_ —"

"I understand," Roy said, raised his hands in defeat. "I was merely complimenting your skills. You do understand that you'll be treated as a woman when we're out?" It would be awful if Ed got his panties in a twist over every man that looked twice at him (Roy was pointedly not wondering whether or not Ed was wearing panties).

"I get that," Ed said, huffing, arms crossed over his flat chest. "But just 'cause I'm gonna take that shit when we're not alone doesn't mean I'll take it when we are. Don't forget that."

"Duly noted," Roy intoned. "But _you_ don't forget who's paying you."

And just like that, Ed's shoulders dropped, face sliding back into that hesitant, undeniably feminine expression he'd had when Roy first walked in. "I understand," Ed said, voice sliding to fit his appearance.

The boy from the night before was gone, the change almost eerie in its severity. If Roy didn't know better, hadn't just heard Edward speak, he'd swear he was staring at a different person, someone altogether too demure looking, too soft to be the boy from the Devil's Nest.

"We're going out to dinner tonight with several of my employees," Roy said. "People I trust implicitly. They know you're not—who I say you are, for the most part, but it's imperative that they understand the whole of it." He went silent for a moment, then added in a hesitant tone, "I hope you like Xingian food, Trisha."

The name set off something strange in Ed's eyes (Roy had to stop thinking of this person as Ed, had to shut off that name in both mind and words, _this is Trisha_ ). "I've never had it before," Ed said, eyelashes batting in a way that should have driven Roy up the wall but instead made him want to drive _Ed_ up against the wall. The dress' hem fluttered around his knees, and Roy's eyes zeroed in on the motion. He shook his head, one rough movement, and stepped back.

"A car will be here at six," he said. "Make sure you're ready."

"This all right?" Ed asked, pulling the fabric of the dress, eyebrows raised. "Or should I try something else? This isn't gonna be formal, right?"

Roy looked him over, frowned thoughtfully. "Typically, Ed, everything I do is formal. Eveningwear," he said. "You look a bit too casual for a date."

"Don't see how this is a date, this is like—are these the people you're trying to take over with, or whatever?" Ed asked. "I don't see why I should give a damn about _them_ —"

"Because you have to be convincing," Roy pressed. "If you think I'm not watched every time I walk out the front door, you're wrong."

Greed was a sadistic bastard, more than even Roy had realized, to have sent him someone so utterly uncouth. Ed had the looks, might have even had the knowledge and the skill, but he was sorely lacking in the know-how necessary for such a discreet job. Ed's contrariness, his need to mouth back at everything Roy said, left him nervous, wondering if perhaps he should send Ed back to Greed, ask for someone who actually knew how to play the rounds, knew what was necessary to survive in life and politics—

But then Ed turned around and strolled out of the kitchen, hips wagging from the high heels and the dress and—Roy remembered Ed on his back, so compliant, and he couldn't muster up enough disappointment in the boy's attitude to send him back.

Hedonism, Roy knew, was likely to be the end of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Six o'clock, and Ed looked even less of himself than he had when Roy'd walked in the door. A black dress, of course of he'd wear a black dress, and—his nails looked painted, red as his lips, and Roy couldn't look anywhere but at Ed-cum-Trisha, cocktail dress and high heels and makeup and hair bundled on top of his head and all.

"Does this meet your satisfaction, sir?" Ed asked sarcastically, hips cocked to the side. If he hadn't been rolling his eyes and sneering, Roy might've taken it as a come-on.

"Very much so," Roy said. "I'll have to compliment Greed on his tastes." Whether Roy meant in clothing or in subordinates, neither of them could really say.

Outside, the shrill honk of a car horn sounded, three separate bleats. Roy held out his arm, let Ed take it, and walked them both out the front door. He could see smoke floating out the open window on the driver's side, breathed a relieved sigh. Havoc was driving, which meant any slip-ups Ed made on the way to the restaurant would be forgiven, unmentioned. Hughes knew better than to send an unknown.

Roy opened the car door for Ed. The boy faltered at the move, closed his eyes - and when he opened them, the last vestiges of Edward Elric were gone, the eyes softened, the expression altogether one of a woman being wooed.

"Thank you," Ed demurred, and let his hand slide over Roy's gripping the edge of the door, the corners of his painted lips tilted up. Roy raised his eyebrows, heard Havoc cough suspiciously in the driver's seat.

Clearly, Roy thought, closing the door and climbing into the car on the opposite side, he had no reason to worry. In the presence of others, Ed's acting appeared to be flawless. It was difficult to reconcile the persona Ed presented in private with the easy, feminine grace he held himself with as Trisha. It was as if they were honestly two separate people. Roy found himself on edge, expecting the façade to shatter at any moment, to give them away. With any luck, it would hold true indefinitely.

"So, you're the boss' lady?" Havoc wasted no time, grinning back at them in the rear view mirror.

Ed smiled, dipped his head. "I'm Trisha," he said—practically purred it, really. Roy grabbed Ed's hand, gave Ed a sharp look when the boy laughed.

"She fits the part," was all Havoc had to say on the matter.

"For the money I paid, she'd better." Roy felt Ed's grip on his hand tighten, winced at the pressure. So the boy was still sore at being reminded of his position? What sort of experience did Ed even _have_? Roy didn't get it, didn't understand how the boy could be so—so utterly unprofessional, especially coming from such a lauded crime family. Perhaps it was simply that Ed didn't consider Roy part of the deal, on his own. Whatever the reason, the bizarre mixture of Ed's professional skill and insubordinate attitude was jarring, the switches between the two far too clean. But then, expecting anything to do with the Devil Nest's to make sense was likely wishful thinking on his part. "Are all the preparations ready?" he asked, turning his attention back to Havoc. He pointedly did not look at Ed's legs, at the way the slinky black material of his dress rode up, resting on skinny, dimpled knees.

Havoc nodded. "Hawkeye and Fuery went ahead about two hours ago to set the security detail. Hughes said something about the press, but hell if I can ever follow a word he's saying."

"He's enjoying this a bit too much." Roy didn't want to think about what Hughes was doing contacting the press. Something humiliating, yet necessary for Roy, no doubt. "I hope you're not camera shy," he said to Ed, because if the boy had an issue with something like that—

"Nah," Ed said in his own voice.

Havoc started and made a choking sound. The car jolted as his foot reflexively hit the brakes.

"I'm good,” Ed continued, ignoring it all. “Just point me where to go, and you can get all the damn photos you need."

"You're a man?" Havoc blurted, blinking rapidly into the mirror.

"Yeah," Ed said tersely, "I am. I double as a bodyguard. Fuckin' look at _me_ like that…"

"Do try to remember what we discussed earlier," Roy said, leaning over so his words were for Ed alone. "My team will know who you are, but you'll still be _Trisha_. I won't tolerate you giving them any trouble," and just like that, Roy tightened the leash he had on Ed, saw the boy stiffen and look away. Ed was still young, questioned things too much—Roy couldn't allow any give in his hold on the boy. He didn't want to think what would go wrong if his control slipped, not when Ed would be so deep in everything he was working for.

Not for the first time, Roy felt the urge to call Greed, to demand a professional to be sent. No matter how the man had promised he had the perfect candidate for the job, Roy had his doubts. Ed wasn't alleviating them, either.

The boy muttered a surly, "Yes, sir," and turned away, scooted to the door and watched the city pass by the windows in a neon blur.

The restaurant wasn't one Roy would have chosen on his own. It was a small family owned café that sat on the edge of downtown Central, had been around for over ten years and was never frequented by the upper echelon of society. It was the sort of place a tourist would choose, someone from a small town with simple tastes.

Ed took to it immediately.

"Wasn't expecting something like this," he said, voice low, as Havoc parked the car, rounding the side to open Roy's door.

"It fit the situation," Roy said, shrugging. When he stepped outside, there was a small gathering of people with press badges dangling around their necks standing on the edge of the parking lot, a group of five or so serious-faced young people—interns, if he had to guess. They didn't move, didn't so much as blink when Roy stepped out of the car. But when he walked around and opened the other door, giving Ed his hand and helping him out, flashbulbs went off one after the other, the light catching in Ed's eyes. The boy gave a cocky smile, stood close to Roy and rested his head against Roy's shoulder. With heels on, Ed stood just at the bottom of Roy's ears, the perfect height for a female companion.

"Don't say anything," Roy advised. The less said, the less _known_ , the better. He had no idea what he'd do when 'Trisha' up and vanished, but without any solid details spread about, it would be easy to make excuses. Another failed relationship—the press would love it even more than a wedding.

Havoc was three feet behind them as they walked, heads ducked, toward the decorative wooden doors of the little building. Roy watched Ed in his peripheral, amazed at the boy's composure. He was fitted against Roy's side, the hair bundled on top of his head brushing against the side of Roy's face. Roy even swore he could smell perfume, though he could hardly imagine the boy primping and spraying himself down with anything so sweet smelling. It was really as if he had a pretty girl clinging to his arm. His ambivalent feelings about Ed’s abilities tilted a little more towards trust.

If the boy could keep it up—three months, that was all it would take, three months to lose parliament's interest, to throw Bradley off the scent.

The restaurant's windows were blocked, thick screens drawn down over every last one: typical measures for the privacy of such a well-known man. Hughes was the only person waiting inside. He had a bag in his hands and a grin on his face, the edges of it strained. Roy's mind immediately reared up in alarm. "Hughes—"

Hughes, of course, couldn't let Roy have the first say, god no. He strolled forward, grabbed Ed's hand and jerked him from Roy's arm and said, "You look nothing like a man! I have to say, I'm impressed, though I suppose this is sort of thing I should expect from one of Greed's trusted family members!"

Ed stared, the only sign of his irritation a faint tic in his forehead. "Yeah, thanks."

"Right, well, down to business, I guess." Hughes sighed, shoved the bag in Ed's hand. "Bathroom's over there, go get dressed." Ed raised his eyebrows but said nothing, just shot Roy an unreadable look before sauntering off.

"What's that all about?"

"New information just came in," Hughes said. "Knox is a target. Tonight."

"Tonight?" There was no way. It was too soon. "Then there's a—"

"A leak, yeah, that's what I was thinking, too. There's no way of knowing who it is, though, and there's not nearly enough time to sit around scratching our heads about it. We need to move now."

"They chose tonight deliberately," Roy said slowly. Hughes nodded.

"Once word spread that you'd be enjoying dinner with a lady friend, I think parliament got antsy. They've wanted to test you, and I have to say, this is a goddamn perfect time to do it."

"If I show up at Knox's place…"

"Then they know you're a traitor. Or at least, they'd have enough to go on to investigate you further."

"And Ed?" Roy asked, glancing over at the bathroom door.

"I figured you should get your money out of him." No pretences. No dancing around it.

"Hughes—" Roy started to argue, but the door was opened and Ed stepped out, completely himself, and gave Roy a sharp look. The dress gone, Ed had shed all traces of the boy who'd been on his back for Roy, of the woman from the rural East. How many faces could one person have?

"This is what you hired me for, right?" Ed asked, tossing the bag back to Hughes. "Don't be stupid. Everyone else is useless here."

And Roy knew that, yes, that sort of thing _was_ what he'd hired Ed for, had been explicit in his needs when he'd contacted Greed, but Knox … It made Roy’s skin crawl to be put a man - and a valued friend and ally at that - in this boy's, this stranger's hands.

"Give him what he needs," Roy conceded, nodding at Hughes. "We'll remain here." He would trust Ed, and he would trust Greed as a man with a common enemy. God help them both if Ed failed.

When Ed slipped out of the dining room and out the backdoor in the rear of the kitchen, Roy dropped into a chair and stared at the clock.

"First test," Hughes said, pulling out a seat next to him. "If he succeeds—"

"There isn't much of a choice."

*

As he crept through the alley behind the restaurant, Ed was still trying to wipe the makeup off his face, smearing the red across his mouth and cheeks and then wiping the back of his hand off on his jeans. Ed knew a little red stain didn't matter, not where he was going. His whole life was covered in red, his family, his home, his body.

A little red never hurt anyone.

"Get the job done," he told himself, edging out of the alley onto the night-darkened streets. Ed had to say it, had to use the words to steel himself, because killing—it wasn't _in_ him, not really.

There was a gun strapped to his belt. Ed his ran his hands over the outline of the barrel, knowing that he'd never need to draw it. He was his own gun, his hands the trigger, and when he killed, it wasn't so indirect. If felt as if his soul touched the victim and allowed him to feel their last breath shudder from their lungs. He was sick from his own power.

The streets narrowed into residential housing. Fences mailboxes and toys abandoned in driveways appeared in the wake of offices and bars and phone booths. Ed's face felt rubbed raw. By the time he stepped onto Morehouse street ( _Morehouse, right off of main, third house down on the left_ , he'd chanted the words since he'd walked out the door), all the painted-on red was gone from his face, pressed into his skin and spread thin.

First house, and he kept walking, mind twisting, disconnecting, and the weirdest fucking thing was stuck in his head like a reel on replay, Roy's hands on him ( _the look on that bastard's face, he fucking loves me all dolled up, the shit_ ), Roy's smug face—"I didn't pay to look," asshole, asshole, _asshole_.

Third house on the left. Ed crossed the street, walked through the front yard ("Give him what he needs," _bastard thinks he has so much power over me_ —) and watched the windows, his eyes glued to the men dressed in military uniforms holding their weapons to the face of a broken old man.

Ed opened the door.

*

"How long are we going to wait?"

"As long as it takes." Hughes was still sitting at the table, staring fondly at some small square. Roy craned his neck and caught a glimpse of pigtails and pink—Elysia.

"If he doesn't come back," Havoc tried again, looking as nervous as Roy felt but couldn't express, "what happens?"

Hughes didn't say anything. Roy glanced at the picture again, then at Havoc. "If he fails, you mean."

A nod, slow and reluctant.

"If Edward doesn't return, we assume him dead. Knox as well. And we," Roy paused, "we assume ourselves exposed."

"And then?"

Hughes pulled his gun off his holster, put it on the table. "We have more than three bullets," he said. Havoc's face went white.

"Go, Ed, go," Havoc said, hoarse.

They'd arrived at the restaurant at nearly half past six, and it was fast closing on half ten, each successive minute another crack in the fading veneer of Roy's confidence. His and Trisha's supposed date could only last so long—and really, if the prime minister were to show up and demand to check on him—

Roy shook his head clear of all those ridiculous, paranoid fantasies, exhaled a slow and calming breath.

Through the strained silence, a creaking door sounded, wood hitting the frame as it closed. The back door.

Hughes' hand was on his gun. Havoc was inching toward the swinging doors to the kitchen; Roy was stock-still in his chair, fear gnawing at the edges of his minds, face frozen.

"Got you a doctor." Ed pushed through the doors and Knox stumbled along behind him with a look of stupid disbelief.

For a moment, sitting at the table, Roy thought his heart had exploded.

"Was there any conflict?" Hughes always bounced back the fastest, was grinning again.

Knox laughed a loud, harsh bark. Ed just half-shrugged and kicked the ground, managing to look as young as his years, for once. "A little."

"Were you seen?" Hughes asked, and Roy leaned forward, hands clasped on the table and _still_ somehow shaking. If they'd been seen—

"For a second. But y'know, I figure it's pretty hard to rat a guy out when your head's three feet away from the rest of you."

Again, the strained silence. Hughes looked to Knox, who nodded, lips thin. "Good choice," his mouth said. _Why not hire a monster to battle monsters?_ his eyes said.

Roy had a headache. He couldn't even begin to think beyond that, but Hughes was looking at him, Hughes and Havoc and Ed and Knox—he had a responsibility to fulfill. "Edward, go get changed. We need to leave. Hughes—"

"I'll take care of the esteemed doctor," Hughes said, and Knox, god bless the man, still looked too stunned to manage much more than a nod and a blink.

"We'll reconvene tomorrow at the office. Havoc, contact the others. I want Fuery to make certain Ed wasn't seen, and I want it done immediately."

"Sir," Havoc said, and nodded.

Ed disappeared at some point, but there was noise streaming from under the bathroom door.

"Hawkeye'll be sending a team to sweep the café," Hughes offered. There would be no traces left, nothing to suggest that they'd even been there.

When Ed strolled out, he was still _Ed_ , but wearing Trisha's dress and Trisha's shoes with Trisha's hair. Knox looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "What—"

"Long story. I'll fill you in," Hughes muttered. Ed wasn't looking at either of them.

Roy, a gentleman if nothing else, held out his arm. Ed took it, and Havoc followed them out, lights clicking off behind them and the sleepy rousing of camera light in front. When Roy settled into the car next to Ed, an arm around his shoulders, he leaned in close and murmured over the loud kick of the engines revving, "You did well tonight." The scales tipped in Ed's favor. The boy's face reddened, eyes downcast.

For the remainder of the drive, Ed didn't move away.

*

The soldier - or rather the mess of meat that had once _been_ a soldier - spread from the middle of the kitchen, veered into the sitting room between a pile of shattered glass-something and the splintered remains of a chair, and finally dragged in a fast browning smear to the back door. There, the trail stopped abruptly.

Lust drummed her long fingernails against the clipboard, glancing at the mess. "Mustang?"

"Never left." Envy kicked the doorframe. "None of his people were around here, either."

"Or so the report says." Lust looked at the file, eyes passing over the words.

Soldiers were in and out of the house, frantic, sweeping every last inch of it to no result.

"I told Pride he should have left this to us," Envy growled. "Leaving this to _humans_ —the doctor'll be out of the country by now!"

"It doesn't matter. The man didn't have what we needed, anyway." Another soldier walked by, and Lust smiled at him, tilted her head, smiled wider when he stumbled.

"That person won't like it," Envy said. "She wanted the doctor."

"He's gone now. We should concentrate on finding whoever did this rather than on that useless old man."

Envy said nothing. Then, he shrugged resignedly and tapped his face, the sudden red crackling energy causing several shouts of surprise from soldiers within hearing range. His features blurred into those of an older, larger man. Envy's new face crumpled in disgust. Lust raised her eyebrows, pointed at the door.

"I'm going," Envy grumbled. "Slave driver."

"Find out what you can. We meet with Pride tonight."

Lust watched him hobble out of the house, holding her clipboard under her arm. Outside, the sun was rising.

She had work to do.

*

Roy woke up to rain thundering against the roof and his cell phone vibrating against his bedside table, clattering loudly for his attention. Ed lay next to him, fully dressed and with two pillows between their bodies. He murmured sleepily into the covers before settling again.

Groping blindly for his phone, Roy pushed himself up, sitting with his back against the headboard. "Mustang."

" _Roy!_ " Hughes crowed, voice loud and cheerful and altogether too obnoxious for—Roy glanced at the clock, shook his head in disgust at the glowing 5:04 AM—so early in the morning.

"What do you want?"

" _Don't bother coming into the office today_ ," Hughes said, still in that same tone, but pitched meaningfully. " _I'd hate to ruin your honeymoon night with that blonde trick_ —"

"Don't call her that," Roy snapped back, picking up the game with ease. There was no telling who could be listening.

" _Yeah, yeah, we'll see_." Hughes laughed. " _If she lasts, maybe. We all know how you are._ "

"Hm."

" _There are a few things, though. Your lovely advisor_ —"

"You mean, _task master_ ," Roy corrected.

" _She has a few things that need your signature. Said I'd pass them on._ "

"Aren't you helpful," Roy muttered.

" _Sorry_ ," Hughes said, completely insincere. " _She's too scary._ "

"Hm."

Ed was slowly drifting toward consciousness, eyes moving behind their lids. His hands fisted in the sheets, and he pulled Roy's share over his body. Roy scowled, dragging them back. Ed snorted sleepily, rolling with the movement of the sheets, and dragged himself over the pillows between them to drool on Roy's arm.

"I have to go," Roy said, pushing his arm into Ed's face.

" _Ah, she's waking, I take it?_ "

"When can I expect you?" Roy avoided.

" _That's cold, Roy-boy._ " Hughes hummed, breaking into a bout of uncharacteristic quiet. " _Later_ ," he said finally. " _I have to finish my own work, you know._ "

"Call before you come."

" _Will do. Tell her 'hi' for me._ "

Roy placed the phone back onto the table and dropped his face into his hands. Safe—they were safe, for now, and Knox was, too. He'd never felt so relieved to succeed, to pull himself out of such a tight place. And Ed—

The boy snorted again, pressed his face harder to Roy and kicked his leg against the bed.

Ed had done it all. There was no word on exactly _what_ he'd done, but Roy knew enough ( _It's hard to rat a guy out when your head's three feet from the rest of you_ ), more than he wanted. It didn't even matter how the boy had done it. Roy knew better than to pity government lackeys, not with the things they did.

He was lucky, they were _all_ lucky, that the boy was there, was on their side.

Ed rolled again, Roy watching, amused. He kept getting closer, nearly pressed flush to Roy's side, and it was just—sort of adorable, really, made Roy want to run his hand through that gold hair and—

Ed kicked again, his left leg landing on Roy's shin, and Roy _swore_ , nearly flew from the bed, shin aching like someone had dropped a goddamn anvil on his leg. Ed jolted up, scrambled around in sleep, bleary-eyed confusion taking over for a moment before catching sight of Roy on the ground. He sucked in a harsh breath and jumped off the bed, crouching down at Roy's side.

"What did I do?" he asked, more of a whisper, voice still rough with sleep.

Roy, wincing and knowing there would be a bruise but not knowing _why_ , said, "You kicked me," and Ed's mouth formed a silent _O_ , as if that explained everything.

"Sorry," he whispered, pushing Roy's hands away and running his own over the offended shin. "How bad is it?"

"What the hell did you do?" Roy jerked away from Ed's hands, giving the boy a sharp look. How in the hell Ed could do _that_ , when his legs were so scrawny—

"It's automail," Ed said, quiet. "My left leg and right arm. They aren't real."

"Not real." Roy looked at the leg, the arm, looked at his own—how was that automail? Those arms felt real around his neck, as warm as the rest of the boy, and the legs—he'd seen them, felt them wrapped around his waist and pulling him closer. "Not possible," he said, uncertain. "They feel—"

"Real," Ed finished, eyes downcast as his hand scrabbled at his shoulder, searching for something. "Twenty years ago, automail was—metal, that's all. If anyone had it, everyone fuckin' knew. Science is different now." His fingers pushed briefly into the skin spread thin over his clavicle, and suddenly the skin was _moving_. Ed was pulling it off, and in its wake was another layer of skin, intensely scarred and a great deal paler than the rest of Ed's body. It ended as the fake skin stretched further off, revealing smooth, cold metal where his shoulder _should_ have met his arm.

It even _looked_ like an arm, the shape smooth and contoured, nothing like the automail Roy saw on veterans of the old wars, like the prosthetics his own company regularly dealt with. The level of craftsmanship was so advanced. Roy found himself with a sudden and very strange jealousy toward Greed. Where did the man even _find_ things like that? To be so far ahead of the rest of the world…

Ed sat still, fake skin hanging just off the tips of his metal fingers. With a reluctant hand, Roy reached out, ran his fingers along the port on Ed's shoulder. "It must be useful," he said, clearing his throat and repressing the desire to talk shop, "for the sort of work you do."

"Most of the time," Ed agreed. His shoulders relaxed. "I—normally, I mean—I don't have to worry about—kicking someone. Sorry."

"It's fine," Roy said, because what else could he say? It was unlikely the boy had ever spent the night with a client—let alone three months of nights. "We'll figure something out. It would be suspicious to give you your own room."

They were on the floor with the blankets strewn from the bed around them, and the clock was flashing a time too early to consider on a Sunday morning.

Roy was _tired_.

"Hughes called. Knox is safe, and we're out of the red." For now.

"Good," Ed said, rubbing his eyes, blinking the sleep away. "Guy was all right."

"Hughes?"

Ed nodded. "And the doctor—didn't say shit to me about anything. Just said I was doin' my job, which is right, y'know?"

Roy didn't know, was honestly terrified to see what Ed could do. He’d heard enough rumors about the Devil's Nest, about the things that family was capable of.

Ed's arm caught the light beginning to spill in through the open curtains. Roy got up and jerked them shut. Automail, he thought, looking at the arm. A hand like that could crush a man's skull, easy.

Roy wasn't so tired anymore.

*

Hughes hadn't suggested a day off for the sake of Roy's enjoyment—he'd ordered it, a tactical necessity.

Roy had given up on being able to get back to sleep after Ed's foot had its unfortunate run-in with Roy's leg, so instead he had suggested breakfast.

Out.

"Don't you got food here?" Ed was sitting up in bed, hair a mess of tangles and the sleep shirt he'd borrowed from Roy dangling off his shoulders, about three sizes too big.

"You're missing the point." Patience, Roy soothed his irate mind. The boy was worth the trouble. "We need exposure— _Trisha_ needs it."

"Everything's politics and bullshit to you, isn't it?" Ed sneered. "Yeah, fine, we'll go get your fucking exposure, but that better be some damn good food."

"You make it sound as though you're the one giving orders," Roy said mildly, standing at the foot of the bed with one arm in his shirtsleeve. "Get dressed."

Ed's face turned an angry red, but the boy got out of bed, pulled the trunk from underneath it where he'd stashed it the day before. Roy watched with interest as Ed shuffled through it and pulled out something that resembled a brassiere - only stricter-looking. His hands tightened on its unforgiving material when he caught Roy's eyes. "Go wait downstairs."

"For the amount I paid, I can watch if I like." It was a cruel thing to say. The boy curled up tight, shoulders curling in and back hunched over where his knees rested on the ground. The garment, innocuous, lay across his thighs. Ed avoided Roy's face, staring down at the thing across his lap with sleep-mussed hair falling over his eyes.

"Fine," Ed said stiffly, pulling off the sleep shirt. "Do whatever the fuck you want." A pause. " _Sir_."

The tone of Ed's voice very nearly lit a spark of guilt in Roy, but he quickly stamped it out. He could say whatever he wanted, _do_ whatever he wanted to Ed, and Ed had no say in it. Greed had handed Roy the boy's leash for a tidy sum, and Roy could jerk it in any direction he liked until the contract ended.

The boy was a weapon, had said as much himself. A weapon and a tool to be used.

Ed's shirt hit the floor, exposing bent, bare legs, the sharp angle of Ed's hips curving up into a smooth back. The scars tracing random patterns over his body were just another facet of the boy's many faces, at odds with some and ease with others.

Ed shifted, uncomfortable, and stood. "If you're gonna sit there and stare like some old pervert freak, then help me."

"With…?"

The boy stood completely nude next to Roy's bed, shrugging into the shaping garment. "This," he said, turning around. "Took me a goddamn hour to do by myself last time. I didn't even fucking bother to put it back on last night—"

All the blood in his body rushed from Roy's head to his cock. Ed, facing away with his hands at his back, pulling the thing closed, looked unmistakably female.

"Tie them," Ed said as Roy's hands grabbed for the cords, the older man staring helplessly at them. "Pull them tight and—do you see those hooks? Hook 'em in, and make it tight."

Roy's hands were clumsy, pulling the cords and hooking them in, watching Ed's midsection pinch inward, the cups at his chest empty and deceiving. When the straps holding the thing up at Ed's shoulders drooped down his arms, Roy pulled them up, hands lingering at the fake skin at the right, trying and failing to tell the difference.

"Is that the last one?" Ed asked, slightly breathless. Roy ran a hand over the tightly wound cords, over to the new dip in the boy's waist. Ed was otherwise bare, and when Roy's hand dropped to his hip, to his naked thigh, the boy started, his hand quickly covering Roy's. "Is it?"

"Yes," Roy said, almost unaware of his mouth even moving, because _fuck_ , the boy looked too good in that place between male and female.

"What are you doing?" Ed asked, unsteady, when Roy's hand went between his legs, rubbing at the boy's rapidly swelling cock, his other hand covering one of the empty cups where the garment covered Ed's chest.

Too good, _too good_ , and Roy's hips were pushing into Ed's ass, his cock restricted and uncomfortable against the restraining material of his pants.

Ed arched back, letting Roy's face fall in the juncture between his shoulder and neck. "Dirty old man," he muttered, reaching blindly behind himself until his hand was at Roy's zip, drawing it down from an impossible angle and shoving the man's pants down. They hit the floor, and Roy stepped out of them, not missing a beat. "You weren't kidding about," a pause, Ed hissing and pushing back against Roy's slick erection, "getting your money's worth, were you?"

"I'm a frugal man," Roy panted into his ear.

"Cheap," Ed bit back, "don't try and make it sound pretty—"

He pushed Ed until the boy's upper half sprawled across the bed, feet still flat on the floor. He looked over his shoulder at Roy, hands fisted tight in the covers, and scowled. And Roy—

Roy was scrambling for the lube while he ripped a condom out of one of the small square packages, gobs of it shooting across Ed's back in his hurry to slick his fingers, and where the hell had his self control gone? Hands shaking, lubed fingers sliding the rubber on, Roy went cross-eyed. God help him, he couldn't breathe until he was balls deep in the boy and Ed was clawing at the sheets, pushing back _hard_. The metal hooks lining from the top to the bottom of the strange, feminizing garment were glinting, winking at Roy, and Roy couldn't look away, followed the light of the line in and out of Ed like a landing strip, moving and moving and _moving_.

"Cheap bastard, fucking useless pervert!" Ed was cursing him, the words breaking with each inward movement, sharp gasps every time the swollen head of Roy's cock slid in, touched the sensitive nub inside him.

Roy didn't want to hear that, so he pushed Ed's hips up and reached under, grabbed the boy's cock and ground inward at the same time. He felt Ed shudder and shake and spill, spitting his pleasure in a cacophony of curses at Roy.

When Roy came, it was with his mouth open, and the breath that ripped from his lungs was the only thing keeping him from singing the boy's praises.


	3. Chapter 3

Roy could see no signs whatsoever that his much-lauded self-control would ever function properly around Ed. Ed himself seemed to realize as much, maintaining a careful distance between them at all times. Roy scowled at the boy's measured movements. There was no reason Ed should be so against Roy touching him – surely, he expected as much? And wasn't it a good thing, to have such a good-looking client? But the boy, after letting Roy slip out of him, had scrambled away with the same flustered panic as he'd had that first morning, like a schoolgirl after her first time, torn between scandal and pleasure.

The light was red. Roy tapped on the wheel, impatient, and stared at Ed.

Ed, currently, wasn't Ed – was Trisha, in fact, and it was still shocking just how skilled he was at making himself into a new person.

Roy could easily fool himself into thinking he was actually sitting next to a beautiful woman. He wanted to find the cracks between Ed's seamless transitions, but no matter how hard he looked, no matter what he said, the disguise seemed impossible to detect. The slight dip of Ed's head and the lean of his body, which angled the fall of his hair to carefully conceal the out of place protrusion of his adam's apple, was so feminine in nature that there was very little reason to hide even that. Why would anyone bother looking for what they were certain wouldn't be there to begin with?

"Was there anything specific you'd like?" Roy rested a hand on Ed's knee, noted the red rising beneath the delicately applied makeup.

"I'm not picky," Ed responded falsetto. He didn't so much as blink: just smiled and blushed and acted the unspoilt girl straight out of the country, so perfectly that Roy itched to pull straw from her hair. "I trust your taste, Roy," Ed-cum-Trisha said, batting her lashes.

Her knees were pressed together beneath the solid gray fabric of her skirt, ankles crossed primly. Roy kept his hand in place, moved it up and squeezed her thigh when the light turned green.

Keeping to the previous night's theme seemed a good idea. Roy pulled into the parking lot of a small diner, out of the way yet still open enough for news of their visit to spread. It was another place he never would have chosen freely to visit. Ed, he had no doubt, would have.

Ed's hand hesitated on the door, expression more his own than sweet Trisha's. So Roy grabbed his chin and said, "You're beautiful," willing his girl back. Ed softened into Trisha in a moment. It was like staring at an optical illusion.

When they walked into the diner, Ed didn't even put up a fuss about holding his hand.

*

The office was swept for bugs when Roy returned on Monday morning: a pre-emptive measure for the meeting they'd all been anticipating.

"The doctor was relocated to an undisclosed location out of the country," Breda read, flipping through a thin file. "His home was investigated—christ, the scene photos were brutal— but no one found any evidence. There wasn’t anything that would indicate either the whereabouts of the doctor or the identity of the one responsible for the deaths of the officers sent to take Knox into custody." He snapped the file closed and tossed it onto Roy's desk. "Your guy's a real monster."

Roy pursed his lips, chin resting on steepled fingers. Reluctantly, he picked up the file and opened it, flipping to the photos. Upon glancing over the first one, he stopped, frozen.

Brutal wasn't quite the word for it. It was – disturbing, something completely inhuman. Roy couldn't associate the boy he'd left in his bed that morning to the gore in these photographs.

The automail could have done it, a voice spoke up in his mind. Automail could rip a man limb from limb, a man twice Ed's size.

"The Devil's Nest is something, isn't it?" Hughes grabbed the file and slipped it into his jacket. "At least we know Ed's useful." There was something off in Hughes' tone, something grieving.

Hughes took everything too personally.

"How old _is_ he?" Havoc asked. He'd been sitting at his desk chewing a pencil when Roy'd gotten in that morning, and by now the damn thing looked near decimated. Havoc held it pinched between two fingers, the eraser end resting at the corner of his mouth. "He looks—hell, it's hard to tell when he looks like," a vague, obscene gesture over his chest, "but when he left, you know, in normal clothes, he looked real young."

"He said he's seventeen," Roy offered. "But I have no way of knowing how true that is. Greed might have given him a specific identity for the mission."

"Several, apparently." Hughes sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "The important thing is that Ed got everything done. We're safe for now, us and Knox."

"We’re short a doctor, though," Breda put in.

"Which brings me to my next point!" Hughes tapped another file resting on Roy's desk. "We need more support."

Names. The folder contained sheet after sheet of names and profiles. "Prospectives?" Roy frowned. "You've investigated _all_ of them?"

"Of course," Hughes said, adjusting his glasses. "And we need people, Roy. Our supporters have been getting targeted left and right—we can't do this on our own."

"What do you propose we do?" Roy asked, irritated. "Knock on," he glanced at the list, "Mr. Tringham's front door and ask if he'd fancy a bit of treason?"

Havoc and Breda grinned. Hawkeye tutted disapprovingly and leveled Roy with a stern look.

"That," Hughes said, grinning ominously, "is where our little monster comes in."

*

Roy got home late that night, drained and irritable. It was just after ten when he pushed the door closed behind him. The whole front of the house was dark, save for a soft, glowing light streaming out from under the cracked door to his office. Ed didn't look up when Roy stepped in the room, apparently too focused on the book spread across his lap.

"Didn't know you were interested in alchemy," Ed said. "It's illegal, y'know."

"As are many of the things I do," Roy said wryly.

"Do you still practice?" When Ed looked up finally, his eyes were glowing in the dim light of the room, looking almost inhuman.

"I'm surprised you're so interested." Roy hesitated. "But yes—I do."

Ed set the book aside and stood. "Can you show me?"

"I—yes," Roy said, dazed by the intensity of the boy's gaze. He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and took out a small box. It wasn't the cleverest hiding place, but Roy had faith in the security of his home.

It had been too long since he'd worn his gloves. Ed watched, unblinking, as Roy pulled them from the small box and onto his hands, flexing his fingers in the material. Too long, too damn long, since he'd felt the rush of flames from his hands.

"Put out the light," Roy instructed, nodding when the boy complied. "Pick up that candle—the one on the bookshelf. Hold it by the base."

The room was completely dark, only the faintest trace of moonlight stealing in through the space between the bottom of the curtains and window glass.

Ed stood in the center of the office, candle held carefully in his hands. Roy could only just make out his silhouette. Roy raised his left hand, fingers a hair's width apart.

"Stay still," he said, and snapped. A faint, crackling pop sounded in the room as the candle suddenly lit up, illuminating the boy's face. His expression was enthralled, ecstatic.

"Flame alchemy," Ed murmured, holding the candle close to his face. "Brilliant."

Roy stripped off the gloves and tucked them away into the hiding place again, watching the boy in his peripheral. "What about you?"

"Me?" Ed looked up.

"Alchemy," Roy said, grabbing the candle and resting it carefully on the desk. "Do you practice?" The boy was so enthralled by such a simple display. He was obviously interested in the science. If he actually _practiced_ it …

"Yeah," Ed said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "I do."

"That's useful. I'd like to see it."

"You will," Ed promised. "Right now, though, I'm fuckin' starving." Just like that, the reverent atmosphere broke, and humanity returned to the boy's eyes.

"You could have eaten without me," Roy said, amused. "Although it's flattering that you waited."

"Fuck you, I wasn't waitin' for your stupid ass. I just got distracted," Ed hissed at him, hackles raised.

"It's wonderful to know you've become so attached," Roy purred.

The boy's indignant rage was hysterical. Roy couldn't help but push his buttons. Only the memory of the crime scene photos held him back from continuing.

*

Hughes wanted to brief Edward himself. He showed up at a reasonable time, champagne bottle in one hand, a gift basket in the other, talking at the top of his lungs about _so what'll you name the kids?_ until the door was safely closed behind him.

"Edward!" Hughes said jovially.

"Oh, it's you," Ed said flatly.

"This is nice," Hughes carried on, either ignoring or ignorant of the boy's lack of enthusiasm. "Much better way to spend time together, eh? No bodies!"

"Maybe I like bodies," Ed muttered darkly, shrinking away. Hughes, predictably, was unperturbed.

"We have another job."

"For me?" Ed glanced at Roy, frowning. "Why'd _he_ have to come an' tell me? You can't read, now, too?"

"Hughes insisted," Roy said through clenched teeth. "I'm perfectly capable of—"

"You know how it is," Hughes cut him off, looking like he couldn't be any more thrilled. "Roy, he doesn't always hit all the pertinent details. That's why I'm on payroll."

"I _can_ rectify that, you know."

Hughes shoved Roy, grinning. "Anyway, Ed, mind if I call you Ed? No? Excellent—" Ed didn't get the chance to stutter out a response, just watched the man speak with a wary scowl. "—now you know why you're here."

"For three months, I do," Ed said, finally getting a word in.

"Right," Hughes looked at Roy, "for three months." Roy shrugged. "Then we'd better get our money's worth!"

Ed started at that, gaze sliding to Roy, who watched the boy turn the words over in his mind, eyes shuttering. They were Roy's words, and he'd meant them. There was no point in regretting anything after the fact.

Hughes continued, oblivious. "What we're lacking is support. Manpower, if you will. The main issue is that, well," Hughes laughed, a nervous trill. "People who join us have a tendency to die."

"Inconvenient," Ed offered. "But I don't see how I can help."

"We need someone who can, let's say, get the word out."

Ed stared. "How in the _hell_ —"

"We have a list of prospectives. People who could be beneficial." Hughes went on and on about it, manpower, doctors, soldiers, scientists, politicians – talked as though Ed gave a damn. He didn't give a fuck about the logistics and told Hughes so, loudly.

Oddly enough, Roy supported that. "Edward isn't here to talk politics, Hughes. The specifics."

Hughes looked put out for all of a second before he barreled on. "You, Ed," a pause, "Trisha, anyway. You'll be our connection."

"How's me wearin' a dress going to help?" Ed demanded. "Or am I missing something?"

"Trisha just moved here," Hughes said mildly. "She's from the country, just moved in with her lover—but she's not stupid enough to go without support."

Roy nodded. "A job?"

"A job," Hughes agreed. "A secretarial position with the department of natural sciences at Central University."

Ed stared. "How'd you wrangle that so quick?"

"Oh, I know a guy," Hughes said, vague. "And so will you soon! Isn't this exciting?"

Ed looked at Roy, eyebrows quirked up. Roy shrugged, and said, "When?"

"Still don't see why I have to dress like a girl for this," Ed grumbled. His complaint went unnoticed.

"Seeing as we've been given a time limit, I thought it best to start quickly," Hughes explained wryly. "So you have an interview tomorrow afternoon."

"Interview?" Ed demanded. "I thought you already set this up! Like _hell_ am I gonna—"

"Kid, you are _entirely_ too easy to read," Hughes said. "Work on that. And in any case, I did set it up, but that doesn't mean there isn't an order to follow. If it looks suspicious, someone's bound to take notice."

Ed fumed, but didn’t question the logic. Instead, he just muttered "Stop calling me kid," then crossed his arms and slumped down in his seat.

Shooting Ed an unimpressed look, Roy leaned forward. "What do we need to do?"

*

The office was nearly empty, save for one man sitting in the receptionist's desk, peering intently at the computer screen. There was a series of pronounced lines running across his forehead from temple to temple. As he narrowed his eyes in concentration, the creases deepened.

"Shouldn't you have a secretary to man the front, Professor Tringham?"

The man looked up sharply, blinking in surprise. "Mugear?" He laughed. "Always so formal. I've told you before—Nash is good enough."

Mugear stepped into the office proper, giving a fundraising banner posted on a shoddy bulletin board a critical look. "And you're as casual as ever," he joked, but there was very little humor in his tone. "Really, you have enough work to do, Nash. Tell me you aren't sitting out here answering calls? There's research to be done!"

Nash rubbed at his nose, shrugging sheepishly. "I've an interview in," he glanced at his watch, "just a few minutes. A young woman's to be applying for the position. If it works out well, she'll be replacing Lyra. You remember her, of course?"

"Vaguely," Mugear said unconvincingly.

"But really, what are you doing all the way out here?" Nash asked, reclining in the office chair. He stretched his arms over his head, wincing as his back cracked, the sound of it audible.

Mugear raised a brow. "The department of natural sciences has been under fire recently. I was defending your use of funds to the board of trustees up until ten minutes ago."

"Ah," Nash said. He swallowed, beginning to look flustered. "I do apologize for that. But the research is good, I can promise—"

"I'll be more impressed when I see the results," Mugear said sharply. He stroked the lapels of his jacket and cleared his throat, as though in an effort to rein himself in. "See that you find yourself a suitable assistant soon," he said, the words holding an edge of warning.

"I—absolutely, yes," Nash said, scrambling through the mess of papers on the desk. "I've got a, ah, Ms. Trisha Elric," he announced, "coming in two hours from now."

Mugear snorted. "I don't care who she is. Just get what you need to get done, Tringham. I look forward to seeing the results." Just as he was about to turn and leave, he paused, frowning. "Elric, you say?" he repeated. "Odd name."

"She came highly recommended," Nash began, but Mugear didn't bother sticking around to listen to the professor's stammered assurances.

Mugear made his way out of the main office and down the corridor to the building's entrance. He paused in the doorway until he caught sight of his chauffeur parked out front, and then made his way to the curb, holding his chin high and looking down his nose at the students loitering about.

The door was opened for him by a nondescript-looking man in black. Mugear slid into his seat and waited for the door to close. Then he heaved a sigh and shot the other person sitting in the back of the car a dark look.

"You're free to be you," said Lust, with no small amount of amusement.

A faint red crackle filled the area, and the older man's features morphed and shrank into a much younger, petite form. Envy let his head fall back on the headrest and clasped his hands over his stomach.

"This is getting really old," he muttered.

"Get used to it," Lust sniffed. "We only have so many options."

"Whatever." Envy shrugged. "What next?"

"We wait," Lust said simply.

"How different," Envy said. Then he remembered: "Tringham's getting a new secretary."

"To replace Lyra? It's about time. She's been gone for quite a while.'

"I still think we should have left her," Envy insisted. "She was easy to keep track of. Didn't ask questions."

"She's been put to better use," Lust said, putting an end to that conversation. "Did he say anything? About the new secretary? We ought to report on that. If everything goes as planned, we'll have to keep tabs on whoever it is." Lust sighed wearily.

"Some girl." Envy shrugged. "Elric. Does that sound familiar to you?"

Lust raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. She quickly leaned back and banged on the window separating the cab from the backseat. "Change of plans," she said. "Take us to the House of Parliament."

The car took an abrupt right that sent Envy straight into the door. "I take it the name's familiar?" he asked snidely, rubbing his shoulder.

"Unfortunately," Lust snapped, drumming her nails restlessly against the armrest. "And it will be to you, too, soon enough."

*

Roy had a bottle of champagne sitting on the table when Havoc returned Ed to the house. "To celebrate your new job," he said.

"You mean the one we already knew I was going to get?" Ed bit back.

The comment didn't stop Roy from pouring two – very full – glasses. "Any reason to celebrate is a good one," he insisted, shoving one of the glasses at Ed and lifting his own in a mock toast.

"I'm not even old enough to drink," Ed pointed out.

Roy pushed off the weight that comment dropped on him. "You do everything else," he said. "And you're worrying about the law _now_?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Ed began, but he let the thought trail off in favor of taking a gulp, which he immediately spat back into the glass. "Oh, fuck that!" His face contorted into a sour, pinched expression, and he quickly put the glass down on the counter. "No thanks."

"I suppose it does require a certain amount of sophistication to appreciate," Roy mused, tipping back his own glass. After taking a deep drink, he leveled Ed with a serious look. "You told me you'd show me your alchemy."

"I did," Ed said, "eventually." Any mention of his own participation in the science seemed a guarantee to shut the boy up. Roy swallowed his frustration before trying again.

"Eventually is now," he said. It was obviously an order.

Ed frowned, those funny little creases forming between his eyebrows. Then his expression smoothed out altogether, and he took a step forward, "Maybe I had something else in mind?" He was very much in Roy's personal space, leaning in. His fingers grazed Roy's side.

Roy raised an eyebrow. It was an awfully clumsy attempt at seduction. The way Ed seemed to curl in on himself even as he tried to sway Roy with his body was telling. It struck him as very odd that Ed could be so – so insecure in his own sexuality. He was meant to be a professional. The disconnect reminded Roy unpleasantly of Ed's age, of exactly what and who he had purchased.

But that didn't stop Roy from putting his glass down with a _clink_ and laying his hand on Ed's shoulder. The boy's eyes followed the motion, even as Roy slid his hand down to the crux of his arm.

Fine. If Ed wanted to play it that way, then Roy had no trouble with indulging him. There would be time enough for interrogations later.

"Something else?" he asked, watching the way Ed's pupils dilated. Roy rested his free hand on the boy's hip and drew him closer. "I'd love to hear about it."

The way Ed swallowed, the exaggerated bob of his throat, the slight tremor in his back – it was absurdly charming.

"Let's go upstairs," Ed suggested to Roy's shoulder. It seemed that he couldn’t quite manage eye contact.

Roy let the boy lead the way.


End file.
